


Controlled Testing

by Kayzo



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Equipment Testing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayzo/pseuds/Kayzo
Summary: There are a lot of gadgets in Q-branch, most designed to kill. Who better to test them than the killers themselves?
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Controlled Testing

The clacking of keys being pressed and murmured conversation was always something of a comfort for Q, it meant that everyone was working, keeping their operatives safe and making the new generation of tools that would help make them safer. It meant that no one was yelling for an agent to _just keep breathing, the extraction team is so close—keep breathing_ or trying frantically to figure out where a cyber attack was coming from as the lights flashed red and everyone went deadly silent. 

It was a comfort that was being rudely interrupted. Sure, 007 was quite as a church mouse, and he was far enough away, but it was like having a fox in the hen house and Q was the haggard farmhand. 

Q took a sip of tea, trying in vain to block it out. For some reason, that just brought the man more into focus. Q felt his eyebrow twitch. 

“Alright then 007,” Q turned and had to stop himself from putting his hands on his hips like a disapproving schoolmarm, “you’ve got my attention.”

Bond saunters over as if he’d just happened to be around and Q was the one demanding his attention instead of the other way around. 

“Yes, Quartermaster?” Bond asks looking at Q with that patented half smirk.

Q is not here to play that game, “What is it you want, Bond?”

“Is it not enough to want to admire the work of one of the best divisions in the Queen’s service?”

Q doesn’t both responding outside of a well timed snort. 

Bond gives a little shrug, “Maybe I was bored.”

“And watching us watch computer screens is so invigorating.” Q looks at his watch. 003 isn’t set to start her stakeout for another two hours, and it is a low risk mission to begin with (not everyone is as…colorful as Bond).

“R, you have the conn.” Q says to his right hand woman and steps down from his post as R takes the mantle. 

“Was that a Star Trek reference?” Bond asks, voice laced with amusement. 

“Really 007,” Q grabs his windbreaker, his mobile, his second mobile, and his tablet, “we are a room full of computer geeks. _Of course_ it’s a Star Trek reference.”

Q walks from the tunnels that make up Q-branches home. 007, of course follows. They go further into the bowels of the bunker, where the test chambers are. It’s always colder here; MI6 isn’t about to heat the whole of this unending maze. They arrived at the labs soon enough, as Q made his way through the rows, looking for a particular prototype, he was pleasantly surprised enough that Bond didn’t immediately start picking up weapons—especially as some of them weren’t altogether stable yet.

“Gun?” Q asks over his shoulder, “or throwing knives that go boom?” Bond’s head snapped away from the curves of metal he’d been admiring to Q’s face, his look of shock morphing into one of feral joy.

“The knives.”

“You are seriously like a man-child.” Q sighs, “One that unfortunately has approval to blow things up.” He grabs the set and gets them over to a proper testing room. 

“You’re the one giving me that approval, dear Q.”

“And I pity the world for it.”

Q sets the knives down, gets through his speech on safety and testing prototype materials that Bond at least has the decency to nod through if not actually listen to, and then he gets the hell over into the observation room. 

Bond in action…well it’s definitely something to behold. His movements are always so fluid, the languid arch of his body as he throws the knife. It may or may not have Q a little distracted from watching the knives in action. Q watches him on grainy CCTV footage often enough, sometimes even on his own, much superior, visual equipment, but there’s nothing like seeing it in person. 

The first knife lands in it’s target with a satisfying thud, but the promised _boom_ is nonexistent. 

Q pressed the little intercom button and repeats; “Press _firmly_ on the handle a half inch from the blade as you’re pulling back to throw.” Reilly did refill the explosives, didn’t he? Q looks down at his notes and misses the next throw—and this one goes off without a hitch. It seems to cause a reaction in the already embedded knife that didn’t go off though…Q jots down the time to review on the footage later. 

Bond throws a few more of the knives with relish, testing the weight of them, their trajectories. He also presses the button, then lets it go without throwing. Q’s not above admitting his heart jumped a little bit at that. Is the idiot trying to get himself killed? Everyone would certainly think Q did it! Not that they would be able to follow through with any kind of punishment (he could destroy them all), but still, the rumors. It would have Q-branch in a flurry for at least a week. 

Q presses the button again; “Do try and be careful, Bond.”

007 gives a mock salute and throws without looking; the knife successfully hitting it’s target and explodes. 

Q writes a few more notes, satisfied with the impromptu test, “Alright, go get them.”

Bond makes a face and Q can’t help but roll his eyes as he hits the intercom button again, “of course we made them reusable. Reduce, reuse and recycle and all that. They only have one charge each, in case whatever you hit tries to throw it back, but they’re still perfectly serviceable knives.”

Bond trots down to the other side of the test room and finds within the black aftermath of the explosion his 10 playthings, looking extremely pleased. Q won’t admit the little burst of pride that comes with knowing his invention has passed double-0 muster, but it’s there none the less. 

When Bond exits the testing room, Q’s already waiting at the door. 

“Alright, lets have it.” Q says and Bond goes off;

“The weight is a little top heavy, but that’s to be expected. The trigger is concealed well, and seems difficult to accidentally press—”

Q hums, “don’t think I forgot your stunt with that.”

“—And it’s not awkward to do mid throw when you know where to press. I’d suggest some minute differences in the color—the black blends in too well with the residue, which would make it harder to retrieve during a mission. How in the hell did you make them survive an explosion they _make_?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Q mumbles more to himself than Bond, writing one more note before tapping the program closed and looking at the deadly agent in front of him, “Alright, I’ve given you your attention, are you feeling much better now?”

“How could I not?” Bond’s face falls back into that familiar half smirk, but his eyes are a bit brighter than before, “How can I ever repay you?”

Q resists the urge to roll his eyes now that the recipient can see him, “Don’t loom in Q branch.”

Bond leans against the wall like a regular old Casanova “But how else will you know I’m desperate for your attention?”

Q can play that game, “A normal person would just ask me to dinner.” It might even be fun. 

Bond’s grin gains that predatory edge, “Well, my dear Quartermaster, may I take you to dinner?”

It will definitely be fun

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, i do hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
